A Child's Legend
by TardisDragon211B
Summary: Everyone's heard of the legend. It causes an imaginative spark in us all even if we don't always show it. The question that makes skeptics is "did it really happen?"


**So hey there fellow fanfiction writers/ readers! I know there are tons of stories out there to read. Thanks for letting mine be one of the ones you actually chose, unless you clicked on this by accident. In which case now's the time to make your escape.**

**I hope you enjoy my little one- shot :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Merlin, the characters or the shows.**

John Watson woke up to his phone ringing. His head felt like it weighed a ton as he slowly rose to a sitting position against the headboard of the bed. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes then scrunched his face towards the alarm clock on the right-handed side of the bed.

It was six in the morning.

The phone continued to ring.

"Hang on, I'm coming." John groggily and irritated snapped at the little metal device as he reached out to grab it.

"Hello?" He asked more annoyed then he sounded.

"John." A deep voice stated blankly. John opened his mouth and threw his free hand up in the air.

"Sherlock do you ever sleep?" John shouted into the phone.

"We have a case. Meet me in the kitchen." The emotionless voice disappeared with a click from the other line.

John slid down so he was reclined and looked up at the ceiling. He grabbed the pillow next to him and covered his face with it.

"Seriously, he couldn't have just knocked on the door," he mumbled into the soft pillow.

"Morning." Sherlock stated with a smile over his newspaper as John entered the room dressed for the day.

"Sherlock," John answered with a growl and a glare, pouring coffee into a mug.

"Come along John," Sherlock stated putting the paper down. He walked over to the hanger and picked up his blue jacket along with the normal scarf. John remained sitting, sipping on the steaming hot liquid. Sherlock grabbed one of John's arms, dragging him from his chair.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, but his retaliation was ignored as he was dragged out of the door, Sherlock grabbing his brown jacket on the way out.

The two got in a cab, John protesting all the way. The coffee was still steaming on the table as the two drove away.

"What's this one about," John asked as he struggled to put his jacket on without removing his seatbelt.

"There's been a robbery at the Museum of Britain History," Sherlock answered looking out the window. John finally got the jacket around his torso and relaxed.

"That doesn't seem up our ally," John sent him a questioning look. Sherlock looked over out of the corner of his eye then back out the window.

"None of the artifacts where stolen just all of the security cameras and light bulbs. Also the guard who was supposed to be on watch was found dead in his home a few hours ago."

"Why would someone kill for light bulbs?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John's question.

"Why would they steal the security cameras?"

Just then the car came to a stop. Sherlock handed the driver a few notes and proceeded to jump out of the cab and up the stairs of the museum, John trudging along behind him.

The two walked through the doors that led to the exhibits. They had to walk through many halls in order to reach the security office. John couldn't help but look at the intriguing displays.

They walked through the Hall of Dinosaurs where the fossilized remains of the great reptiles hung from the ceiling. Tour guides were leading groups of school children, pointing out little known facts. John turned towards Sherlock.

"Why are they open today?" John asked, eyebrows knitted in confusion. Surely after a robbery the museum would have to close down for a day.

"Something about it only being bulbs and cameras made it so they could stay open. Probably did not want to loose the money." Sherlock answered as they walked into the Medieval Hall.

John saw the worn out pottery and trinkets of an ancient time lit by the fluorescent lighting and encased in thick glass. Children and adults alike hovered over each one. Even if they only had the slightest interest in history, everyone found the shinny swords, handcrafted armor, and the jewels of a crown to be at least mildly captivating.

The two walked threw the museum without speaking. John looking around and Sherlock lost in whatever thoughts were passing through his mind. Just before they were about to enter the Great Sea Hall, John came to a halt.

Sherlock kept walking, but stopped. He looked around and found his missing friend starring at a long tapestry that was hanging on the wall. A few others were also looking at the piece of artwork, memorized by the depiction. John stared at it with a sense of familiarity.

On it was a colorful picture of knights dressed in armor and red capes who were surrounding a great beast. The beast was a green dragon that was breathing fire towards one of the men who was defending himself with a metal shield. Facing the dragon, a man with a crown on his head stood before the creature with a smile on his face. The man sported blonde hair and an equally colored beard. He wore an outfit similar to the knights only his armor was golden instead of silver. The gold threading glistened even in the modern lighting. In his hands he held a silver shield with a golden dragon on it and a sword covered in jewels with light shooting around it. It seemed as if the sword was heading straight for the dragon's chest.

John turned his head to the left side of the picture where he noticed a man in a red robe was standing behind a tree a distance away from the scene. He had a long white beard and equally as long white hair. In his hand he carried a twisted stick fastened into a wooden staff. From his free hand and the tip of his staff lighting shot towards the battle, flying over the knights' heads and into the dragon's head.

John knew what the art was of. He didn't even need to look down at the description. Every child knew the story of King Arthur. How the man saved young maidens and defeated dragons. He was the best King England ever knew, protecting Camelot with the help of his loyal knight, Lancelot, and powerful warlock and advisor, Merlin.

John remembered the stories his mother would tell him. They were stories which could bring any young boy to wishing to be a knight of the round table. To go into the heat of battle to feel the rush the chivalry and bravery felt like.

"What are you looking at?" Sherlock shook him out of his memories but his eyes remained on the fabric artwork.

"It just reminded me of stories my mum use to tell me," he answered.

Sherlock looked up at the tapestry then down at the description.

"King Arthur defeating the Wicked Dragon Kilgharrah," he read out loud. His nose scrunched up as he looked at his friend who was still looking at it.

"There are no such things as dragons nor was there a King Arthur," Sherlock stated bluntly. John switched his gaze between the design and Sherlock until his gaze landed solely on Sherlock.

"How can you be sure?" John asked turning his head so it was facing the other man.

"It's ludicrous. A flying reptile that breaths fire and has magical abilities. Please tell me you aren't naïve enough to believe such fiction, John?" Sherlock sneered. John rolled his eyes.

"Not the dragon. King Arthur. How are you so sure he never existed?"

"Think about it. Now really. Does it seem likely that a man could defeat entire armies, kill great, deadly beasts, and save queens from the likes of witches and dark spirits? Even if half of the events were proven to be true, don't you think there would be a better record of him, or at least a reliable reference to where this supposed Camelot was?"

"I guess," John whispered looking back at the artwork. "But where's your sense of imagination Sherlock? Sure it might not all be true. Maybe none of it is. But wouldn't it be fun to just believe in it? I mean I know I loved to hear about the stories when I was growing up."

"And that is precisely my point. It is but a mere child's tale. Nothing more than a story to make children fall asleep," Sherlock stated as he began to walk away. John looked after his receding friend.

"But Sherlock!" John called after, but remained where he was.

"A child's legend John," Sherlock called back as he continued walking.

John gave one last look at the piece before he ran after his friend towards the security office.

He did not notice the young, raven haired man standing beside him in a blue blazer, and brown trousers, a red scarf similar to Sherlock's wrapped around his neck. He did not notice the cool blue eyes as they looked up at the same piece of art with a sense of nostalgia. Nor did he notice the edges of the man's lips twitch up as he stifled a laugh.

"Yes. A mere child's tale, my old friends," he chuckled towards the images of the dragon, the knights, and the king.

**Soooo… yeah.**

**Thanks for reading!:)**


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